


Of Lilac Eyes and Toxic Smiles

by StarlightDreamer16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore Bashing, F/M, Harry bashing to a degree, I promise this won't be as ridiculously bad as it sounds, I think i hope, Kiara if you read this I'll kill Lance, Kiara you are not allowed to read this, Like, Potentially background Drarry later on, This is a story I'm rewriting that I started at like fourteen, Tom Riddle|Voldemort / oc, bad, because it was, but I'm determined to fix it, deleted from this earth, fanfic.net era bad, go read The Gays instead, it was the era of OCs I'm sorry, more tags to be added as the story progresses, no one will ever find it, okay so, protagonist starts off a child but a time skip happens, that era of harry potter fanfic bad, the original story is very dead btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 09:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15021269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightDreamer16/pseuds/StarlightDreamer16
Summary: At four years old, Delilah Potter's magic had only just begun to surface. When she was startled awake by her brother's screams, her bedroom door locked itself and she scrunched her eyes closed.At fifteen years old, Delilah Potter finds a diary and falls in love with a boy with malice in his eyes and lies between his lips.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a story I wrote at fourteen during the peak cringe Harry Potter fanfiction era so there are definitely aspects in here that are reminiscent of that. It was the first story I really invested in, though, so I'm determined to fix it into something I can be semi-proud of.
> 
> Enjoy?

Delilah watched as the car backed out of the driveway. The headlights blinded her as they shone through the damp curtains that obscured the basement window. Upstairs, footsteps meagrely sounded, followed by the muffled thud of something being dropped directly overhead. Harry Potter was taking full advantage of the almost empty house. This time perhaps he would be stealing enough food for two. At the thought her middle and index fingers crossed at the second knuckle.

She could hear Harry digging through the back of the refrigerator, searching for something of questionable edibility that wouldn’t be missed. And… there. The metallic clatter of the cutlery draw sliding open. He’d found something that he could stomach. Only a few minutes later the pipes surrounding her rattled as the sink was filled and the dishes were hastily, but thoroughly, cleaned. Harry wouldn’t make the same mistake twice – last time the Dursleys had found the extra dish added to Harry’s usual workload and had gone out and bought a lock for the cupboards and fridge. It was only recently, after Dudley had complained, that the locks had been removed.

Pounding footsteps hurried up to the second floor of the house, third if you were to count the basement, though it rarely was, and back down to the kitchen. Harry rushing to dry the sink, wiping away any evidence that he existed outside the dark cramped hole that he lived in. She could hear him raiding the pantry now, if he were quick he could run down and slip her something before their aunt and uncle were back from picking up Dudley.

However, the slender beam of light that cut through her window a moment later sent the familiar set of feet above her head into action. The Dursleys had been quick, as they often were when leaving Harry home without supervision. The girl curled around the light reflecting off of the headlights as if it were sunlight. She flinched involuntarily when the light cut off.

She would not be eating tonight. If Harry were smart he would have already hidden whatever extra food he had managed to gather up. She shouldn’t be upset that he hadn’t brought her anything. They both were well aware that the consequences of helping each other – which they could only imagine as neither had actually helped each other in the past few years – would not be pleasant. However, as Delilah Lillian Potter settled down to sleep, crossing her fingers, imagining waking up and finding the door unlocked and wishing for a miracle – as she had done since the first night that she had been left in the dark, damp room – she could not help but feel hurt.

It had not always been that way. Delilah could remember a time filled with sunlight and laughter and physical contact. She remembered it like remembering a dream. She couldn’t describe it in detail but she knew that once upon a time she had not lived in the room with the toilet and the bugs and the tiny slip of dirty glass high up in the corner.

 

When morning came Delilah was awoken by her uncle’s harsh voice sending shivers down her spine. Surprisingly, Delilah noticed as she listened from below, he didn’t appear to be yelling at Harry. Nor did the yelling seem to be directed at his wife or son. She could hear her aunt’s quiet voice promising to take care of the problem. A few minutes later dust stirred as her ceiling shook under the weight of her uncle’s footsteps. Delilah counted the minutes down until finally three more sets of feet rattled above her head; two soft, one loud. With her fingers still crossed from sleep she bounded to her door, wishing again and again, like a prayer in her head, for today to be one of the rare ones. She grasped the door handle in both of her finger-crossed hands and turned.

A whine resonated through the room as Delilah pushed the door open, wincing as the sudden bright light blurred her vision, she stepped out of her room. Delilah closed her eyes, welcoming the instant relief from the harsh light. The sunlight, clouded by the glass of the kitchen window, spread across and soaked into Delilah’s sun-deprived skin like warm water to a sponge. Her mouth pulled up into a giddy smile as the intoxicating warmth spread over her skin. Walking over to the cupboard behind the sink Delilah pulled out an almost empty bottle of sunscreen and began smearing the oily solution over her skin. She had learnt previously that her skin was particularly sensitive to the sun’s rays – it had been pure luck that her aunt and uncle had not decided to check on her the following week. If they had they surely would have noticed the way her flaky sunburnt skin had begun to peel from her body. During that week her darkened room had felt like a blessing rather than a curse.

Hoping that Harry had missed something she began to search through the fridge and cupboards for scraps. She spotted a wrapped lump near the back and pulled it out, peeling off the plastic and scraping away a section of soft mould with her dirty, overgrown nails. Cheese peeked out, the yellow dulled and hardened at the edges, but food poisoning was a step up from starvation.

She scraped away the majority of the mould, wrapping it in the flimsy plastic that once contained the block of cheese and dropping it into the bin. It was only by chance that she noticed it – the flash of paper partially obscured under a milk carton. Reaching into the bin she pulled out two halves to an envelope.

 

_Ms. D. Potter_

_The Basement_

_4, Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

Walking outside and spreading herself out on the warm grass she carefully opened each half of the envelope and brought the letter together. Her eyes narrowed as she read through its contents. As she finished she scrunched up the paper and bit into her cheese with so much force that her upper teeth struck her bottom teeth. No wonder her family had thrown the message away, it was pure nonsense. It was a prank – a cruel joke.

Although, as Delilah lay there in the sunshine, she couldn’t stop the what-if’s from running through her mind. Her mind flashed back to last month when Harry was suspended for dying his teacher’s hair blue. He had sworn that he hadn’t actually done it, he had just imagined it happening and it had. She thought back to the night before, hadn’t she wished for the door to be unlocked? But she had wished for that hundreds of times and she was able to count how many times it had worked on one hand.

Still, her fingers twisted around the paper as she read through the letter again. She let her eyes linger on the words; hope was a dull fluttering thing deep in her chest.

A sudden stir in the tree beside her startled her. The soft downy feathers blended into the tree bark and made the owl difficult to spot. Surprise crept across her face. Delilah had been under the impression that owls were nocturnal, she had spotted them often through the dirty glass of her window. Her gaze drifted back to the letter in her hand, ‘ _We await your owl by no later than July 31st_ ’.

“Hel–” Delilah wheezed, her voice was thick in her throat. The sound that had escaped was no louder than a whisper and rough like sandpaper. Delilah’s throat burned. Her cheeks heated as she swallowed, cleared her throat and tried again. “Hello.”

The owl, much to Delilah’s surprise, flew down from its branch and landed delicately beside her on the grass. It let out a soft coo and motioned to the letter before raising its leg.

“Okay. Stay here just a second. Please don’t leave.” Taking the owl’s silence as a positive response Delilah dashed inside and grabbed a pen. She leant over the table and hastily scribbled out a response on one part of the letter before tearing it off.

_Professor McGonagall,_

_I would be happy to attend Hogwarts. But I don’t know how or where to buy the items I need for the school year. If you could reply with directions to the closest magic store I would appreciate it._

_Thank you,_

_Delilah Potter_

Delilah returned to find that the owl had remained where she had left it and folded her response carefully. Tugging her lip into her mouth she held out the ripped paper.

“Could you take this to Professor McGonagall for me, please?” Delilah mumbled.

The owl blinked and continued to stare at her, but made no move to take the letter. As Delilah chewed on her lip, the realization that she may very well be talking to a wild animal dawned on her. She went to take the letter back just as the owl leant forward and gently grasped the paper in its talons. Delilah let out a startled gasp as the owl outstretched its wings and flew into the sky. Delilah remained squinting into the sunlight until the owl was no more than a speck against the fierce blue sky, wondering if, after so long in captivity, she had lost her mind and had imagined it all. However, as she ran her fingers over the ripped and crumpled paper in her hands she let herself believe, just for a moment, in magic.

 

Delilah eagerly awaited a reply for one week. After a week and a half Delilah began to doubt the sincerity of the letter. When the second week came to an end Delilah knew she had been made a fool of. Certainly Dudley and his stupid friends had been behind the prank and had spent the entire time since laughing at her. How foolish his cousin must have been to believe in magic schools and witches and wizards and messenger owls.

Perhaps the owl hadn’t even been real, perhaps it was merely a new toy. But Delilah could have sworn that it wasn’t. It had looked at her with such intelligent eyes.

But it had been fake – the letter, the owl, everything. Delilah Potter had been foolish and naïve to believe otherwise.

 

The sharp piercing sound of glass being hit echoed through the silence of the room and woke Delilah Potter from her slumber. Delilah quietly moved the one seat she had, a hazardously rotten wooden box, into the corner of her room and carefully climbed onto it to peer out of the dim window. Pulling back the curtain she almost fell off of her stand. A dark shape lurked on the other side of the murky glass. Hesitantly she wiped away the layer of grime.

Her spine stiffened as she took in the intelligent eyes staring back at her. The owl, its sleek brown feathers wet from the rain, blinked at her. Squinting, Delilah was able to make out the pale envelope held in its beak. A thrill made it’s way through Delilah’s body as she raced around her room for a way to open the window.

Her fingers tightened around something cold and metallic as she pulled a metal rod from behind the dirty toilet in the corner. Crossing her fingers she walked back over to the window and, with one last apology to whoever was listening, swung the metal against the glass.

The glass broke relatively easily, shards flying out and landing in the grass. Delilah used the rod to carefully smash the remaining glass framing the minuscule window. One of the perks of living in the basement meant that whilst Delilah’s window was located high up when looking from the inside, it was only a few centimeters off of the ground from the outside.

Carefully Delilah slipped her hand through the narrow slot and the owl dropped the envelope into her waiting palm. The owl took off into the dark sky and Delilah pulled her hand, and the letter, back inside. Delilah was surprised to find that despite the light rain outside the envelope was dry.

Clutching the envelope in her hand tightly she opened it and began to read. Ms. McGonagall had sent her a map, marked with directions to a spot in London, along with a note and a train ticket.

The note read:

_Miss D. Potter,_

_When you arrive at the specified address, ask for Tom. He will assist you. I hope that you find your way to Diagon Ally without issue._

_Be at King’s Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾ (accessed through the wall between platforms nine and ten) before 11am on September 1st._

_We await your arrival at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Kind regards,_

_Professor McGonagall_

 

Delilah stood before the locked door of her room, she closed her eyes and, gripping the handle, told herself that she was magic, that she would not be contained. The door unlocked beneath her fingers.

She walked into the kitchen and began searching the drawers and tabletops for spare change. She didn’t find much, but combined with her other meagre findings it was just enough to buy her a bus ticket to London.

 

Mr and Mrs Dursley of number 4 Privet Drive might have been happy to say that they were perfectly normal, but Miss Potter of number 4 Privet Drive was unable to say the same.


	2. Chapter Two

The address on the letter was a dimly lit building called ‘The Leaky Cauldron.’ Delilah lingered by the door, tracing her fingertips over the coarse paper. She’d figured out that it was a bar after a man had stumbled out with the thick odour of alcohol wafting from him. She’d almost turned away but, after checking the address once more, she decided to stay for a moment longer – if only because she had no other option.

She was tempted to sit down and close her eyes. The bus trip had taken longer than she had expected and fear of missing her stop had kept her from sleep. She couldn’t risk it, though. She’d seen the way people looked at the men and women perched beside buildings with signs and scraps of fabric. She wasn’t sure what would be worse, the pity in their eyes or one of them giving the cops a call.

She carefully opened the door to the tavern, surprised by the ease behind it. She had always expected bar doors to be heavy and sticky, a reflection of their occupants. There were less people inside than she expected: a trio in the back corner, a solidary man at the bar and the bartender. She smoothed a hand over the letter and approached the bar.

“What can I get you today, young Miss?” The bartender’s smile was young despite his bald head and wrinkled fingers.

“I’m looking for Tom.” Delilah slid the letter across the bar.

The bartender’s eyes lit up as he scanned the letter. “Potter? You must be Harry’s sister. How is the young lad? What would he be, eight now?”

“You know Harry?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Everyone knows ‘bout little Harry. You trying to get to Diagon Alley? Follow me.”

He led her to a brick wall and her stomach twisted. He pulled a mangled stick from his coat and tapped the bricks with it. For a moment she was certain that he was insane and that the whole thing had been a trick after all – send her into London to be killed by a madman. But then the bricks shifted and, with a groan, began to slide away. The street behind the wall was flush with colour. It, like the bar behind her, was sparsely occupied, but the few people there held owls and cauldrons and broomsticks. She couldn’t blink, so sure that if she did the world in front of her would vanish and she would wake up back in the musty basement.

Beside her Tom was speaking.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, eyes glued to the alley before her. “Could you repeat that?”

“I was just saying that you look like you could use a good meal. How about you grab some lunch before you set off?” Tom gestured to the Alley. “It’ll still be there afterwards, I swear.”

Delilah’s cheeks burned. “I don’t have any money.”

Tom offered a friendly smile. “That’s alright, you can just pop over to Gringotts. I’ll show you the way.”

She examined the frayed edges of her shoes, they were at least two sizes too small, and tried to ignore the rising blush across her face. “Even if I knew what that was, I’m afraid I have no money at all. I spent the last of it on the bus fare here.”

She peeked up. He was squinting at the letter she had handed him, a crease wrinkled across his forehead.

“But,” his eyes darted between the letter and her, “you’re a Potter, Miss. Your parents left you their fortune, surely.”

She blinked. “Their what?”

“Their fortune. Your father’s family came from quite a bit of money, if I recall correctly. It should be in their vault at Gringotts. You have your key, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t have any key. I didn’t know, I…”

“Well, that’s okay. I simple blood spell will clear up any confusion in the meantime.” Tom frowned. “Say, what were you planning on doing for school supplies then?”

She averted her eyes. “Whatever I needed to, I suppose.”

Rather than the lecture she expected, Tom let out a rich thrum of laughter.

“You’ll end up a Slytherin no doubt.” At her expression of confusion, he grinned and added. “Take it as a compliment, Miss.”

.

Gringotts was the biggest building she had ever been inside. It was also the most beautiful. Alternatively, the creatures there were the strangest and ugliest beings she had seen ¬– Goblins, the sign stated. As she waited, her mind drifted away, lost in thoughts about the other creatures she would encounter in this new world.

“Next.”

Delilah stepped forward at the command. “Hello.”

The goblin’s ears stuck out in dramatic points. “Name and purpose, please.”

“Delilah Potter to, um, take money out.”

“Key, please.”

“I don’t have one, I’m sorry.”

The goblin peered over the counter with a scowl. “No key, no entry. Next.”

“Wait. I was told about a blood spell.” In her pocket she crossed her fingers.

“Those who fail to pass a blood examination face extreme consequences. Know that you are not the first to attempt to access the Potter vault.”

“I’m not lying,” she insisted. “I’ll take the blood test if that’s what it takes.”

The goblin narrowed its eyes and stood. “Follow me, _Miss Potter_.”

The goblin led her down a hallway, before stopping at a door at the end and knocking twice. From inside a voice told them to enter. The office was small but organised, at the desk sat a goblin almost identical to the one beside her. At their entry it stood and adjusted the wire frames on its face. She noted that the goblin before her was perhaps an inch taller than the one at her side. Despite their small stature, Delilah could understand why these creatures were in charge of something as important as money – authority radiated from them in waves.

“Another Potter, it seems,” the goblin at her side announced.

She bristled at the implication. The other goblin examined her, eyes lingering on her tattered clothing and frayed shoes.

“She has requested a blood spell.” The shorter explained.

The taller scoffed but waved her forward. “This will not be pleasant.”

Delilah refused to break its gaze. It circled her, mumbling in a language foreign to her, and she followed with her gaze for as long as she could without twisting around. A chill raced down her spine ¬– like stepping into the shower late at night, long after her uncle and cousin had fallen asleep, and letting the frigid water wash over her skin. A mercy Petunia granted only once a week.

The taller of the two stopped in front of her and stretched out a wrinkled hand. “Hand, please.”

She held out her hand. In one quick movement the goblin snatched it and dug a pin into her palm. A thick scarlet droplet seeped through the wound and the goblin beside her reached out and dug its fingers into her shoulders, holding her steady as the other continued chanting. Her stomach twisted violently and her vision blurred. She swayed in the goblin’s grip but, while the sensation was unpleasant and disorienting, it wasn’t painful. The taller goblin stopped chanting with an undignified scowl and the other released her shoulders.

“It seems you were telling the truth, Miss Potter.” The taller of the two stepped towards the desk and drew a large brass key from the drawer. It gestured towards its companion. “Nagnok will escort you to your vault.”

Nagnok took the key from the other creature and stepped into the hallway, stalking forward at a fast pace. She followed, widening her steps to compensate for the distance Nagnok had already created between them. He led her to a track, where a rusted cart lay in wait. He climbed in and at his grumbled insistence she carefully copied him.

The cart jolted and she reached over, digging her fingers into the rusted metal tightly enough for the tips of her fingers to flush white with pressure. The journey was a whirlwind of twists and turns; she half believed that Nagnok was purposefully taking a more complicated route to confuse her. However, when they stopped she realised that it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since they took off.

“Vault 687, Potter vault,” Nagnok announced, picking up a lantern.

The door to the vault was several metres taller than Delilah, with thick bronze plating and multiple locks. Nagnok twisted the key into an almost invisible slot and, with a groan, the locks clicked and the door opened. Gold overwhelmed her vision. Piles stacked higher than her head glittered against the light from the lantern in Nagnok’s hand. It could very well have been more money than even her aunt and uncle had ever seen.

“29 knuts in a Sickle, 17 sickles in a galleon,” Nagnok explained, holding up three coins and a small bag.

She took the bag and ran a finger across the surface of a galleon. “What happens if I run out of money during my time at Hogwarts?”

“You may request for more via owl.”

She nodded and began to carefully place gold coins in the pouch, as well as a smaller amount of silver and bronze. Holding the bag up she questioned, “Is this enough to cover school supplies?”

Nagnok breathed out a puff of air, as if irritated by her question. “That is more than sufficient.”

She tucked the pouch into the pocket of her pants. The weight pulled the already too large pants down to settle uncomfortably at her waistline.

She kept her fingers in her pocket during the trip back, not taking any chances with the golden coins. It didn’t matter that she had many more back in the vault; years of survival salvaging couldn’t slip through her fingers over the course of a few hours.

When they arrived back at the main entrance of the bank, Nagnok pressed the brass key into her free hand then pulled their hand back as if repulsed.

“Do not lose it again, Miss Potter,” Nagnok instructed. The goblin turned and left before Delilah could remind them that she’d never had a key to lose to begin with.

.

She had been sent to a small, dusty store, hidden between two more prominent buildings. If not for the sign out front proclaiming the space to be the home of ‘Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.’ she would have kept walking, despite the set of precise directions given by the woman who had tailored her Hogwarts robes. At first glance Delilah assumed the store to be empty of both customers and assistants, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting she could make out the silhouette of a man. He stood as she walked closer, and the faint orange light of the lamp on the counter cast his winkled face half in shadow.

“Lily Evans; 10 ¼ inches, Willow, good for Charm work,” the old man – Ollivander the sign proclaimed – declared, cutting through the dusty silence. “You look a great deal like her, your mother.”

“I wouldn’t know, I have no pictures of her.” Delilah tugged on a strand of auburn hair, the only thing she had of her mother.

“You could be her twin, I’d say. If not for your eyes, such a radiant blue. No, not quite blue, something deeper–”

She cut him off. “I’m here for a wand. I was told you’re the best.”

“You were told correctly, my dear. Step forward and let me see you.” At his instruction she moved forward and a measuring tape flew through the air and began to take her measurements. What the width of her nostrils had to do with wand choosing was a mystery to her, but it wasn’t the most shocking thing of the day so she stood and let it finish.

Ollivander took the results and hummed. He walked over and held his hand over one box, and then another before finally picking one up. He returned with three boxes tucked against his chest, a fourth in his hand. Setting the boxes gently on the counter he opened the first and held out a wand to her.

“Careful now, give it a swish.”

Delilah had done little more than lift the wand up before it was snatched from her grip and replaced with another. She sent Ollivander a startled look, only to be encouraged to try that wand instead. With a gentle flourish, she did – and set the first wand alight with fire that shone golden.

“I’m sorr–”

“No, no, no. Not that one.” Ollivander had already switched the wand out with another, waving his hand to put the fire to a stop. “Try again.”

With hesitance, Delilah moved the wand. The lamp on the counter went dark and Ollivander muttered to himself, reaching out to take the wand from her hand. Without conscious thought Delilah stepped back, pulling the wand out of reach, and watched as the lamp slowly reilluminated, filling the room with a gentle shade of lilac.

“Curious,” Ollivander whispered. At her look of surprise, he chuckled. “11-inch, Vine and White River Monster Spine; Elegant but capable of producing spells of force, usually suited to those with a higher purpose. I suspect we will see great things from you, Miss Potter.”


End file.
